(Note: A draft of this post inadvertently was sent out a few days ago before it was completed so I needed to recall it. Sorry for the inconvenience)

We knew it would be tricky to enter Bolivia. Bolivia requires a visa for travelers from the U.S. We could have possibly obtained one before leaving but time constraints necessitated that we attempt to get one at the border. To complicate things, we decided to cross into Bolivia at a small out of the way border crossing on a Sunday. Hmmm.

We were almost ready to leave the Casa Andina Moquegua  hotel at 9:00 AM. It was already over 80 degrees and we wanted to get going. As we were packing up Jackie from the previous night drove up. She wanted to say goodbye, even though it was her day off. She also wanted to sit on Deby’s motorcycle. She said she had dreams of travel but current family logistics made that impossible these days.

We felt guilty as she climbed on Deby’s filthy motorcycle with clean clothes but she didn’t seem to care. Most of the staff came out to wave goodbye and take pictures as we pulled away and headed to Bolivia. I could tell we were going to miss Peru.

By the time we left it was hot but we dressed in our warmest riding gear including my heated liner and Deby’s Klim puffy jacket under her winter riding coat. We knew within 45 miles we would be climbing to over 14,000 feet and as we started to get light headed and confused from the elevation it would start getting cold. For the rest of the 215 mile ride we would be in the Peruvian alto plano consistently over 12,000 feet in elevation.

It was a fun ride with very few towns to slow us down or traffic to avoid.

Rainbow mountain? The painted hills? No, just another vista along this lonely stretch of highway 36A in southern Peru. We stopped to take a picture of this green moss covering some rocks. We learned last time we were in Bolivia that this moss is protected and can typically be over 100 years old.

It was sunny for awhile, then cloudy then it started dumping rain as the temperatures dropped to the low 40’s. Burrrr. Then it stopped raining and warmed a little and the clouds parted enough to let a few rays of sun warm our damp bodies.

Finally, about 2:00 in the afternoon we made it to the sleepy border crossing from Peru to Bolivia.

Exiting Peru was easy. A quick stop at the immigration office to get our passports stamped and another easy stop at Aduana to export the motorcycles. Next we rode towards the arch in the above picture into the unknown of Bolivia.

We met someone who was born in Bolivia and now lives in Chicago and was down visiting her sister. She seemed perplexed as to why we were visiting her country. We tried to explain but she wasn’t having much of it. She said, “you know… Bolivia isn’t really setup to support tourists.” We learned that was very true….

For better or worse, we were the only people trying to enter Bolivia at that sleepy crossing on a Sunday afternoon. We cheerfully walked right up to the Immigration window with our passports. The woman had a look like, oh no…. Norte Americanos. The rest transpired in Spanish with my feeble attempt at the language. Do you have a visa? No. Scowl. Here is what you need. She gave me a small sheet of paper and pointed me to a nearby tienda to get the copies of the seven requirements.

What is a “Bank Tract?” After a little back and forth I found out it meant a bank statement. I guess they want to make sure we weren’t some destitute motorcycle bums invading their country who would never leave and cause unending chaos. We walked to the small tienda and a very helpful man helped us gather the documents and copies we needed. He even took the passport style photos they asked for.

With a stack of paperwork we walked back to the window and she handed us off to another man who meticulously sorted through it all, took pictures and stamped things. Then it came time to pay. We knew in advance the cost was $160 USD each, $320 total. It had to be hard U.S, currency with the bills in pristine condition. Before we left I managed to get three crisp new $100 bills which he accepted easily. I wasn’t as successful finding new $20 bills. I brought six of the best $20 bills I could find and presented them to him. He took forever looking each one over before rejecting them all. A fold, a crease, an ink mark or heaven forbid, a tear would all disqualify the currency as acceptable. He looked at me, I looked at him, no tengo mass I told him while holding his gaze. He revisited the small pile of 20s and picked one he would accept and we were done. He printed out the passport sized visa and carefully placed them along with a plastic protective cover onto a blank passport page. We were in…. almost. He then handed us off to surly woman who asked with surprise…. you have motos? What??? We were standing there all this time with motorcycle gear holding our helmets. Oh, you have to go back to the tienda and get copies of your motorcycle registration forms. With that done she took our passports and gave them the final stamp of approval. We were in.

The next step, (what, you thought we were done?) was to get the motorcycles imported. That was another building where we entered a small room with a woman holding a toddler in her lap. We interrupted her texting on her phone and she seemed perturbed that someone suddenly required she actually do her job. She had us scan a QR code pasted on the wall which brought us to a lengthy online questionnaire about us and the vehicles.  It was actually kind of a slick system. When the form was completed on our phones it showed a QR code that she then scanned to bring up the data on her computer. Some more typing and the printer spitted out two temporary import permits for the bikes. I snuck a picture as she managed the whole process with one hand while holding the cute baby.

As a final step, baby in tow, she came out and inspected the motorcycle VIN numbers before unlocking a padlock on the gate and swinging it open enough for us to ride through. We did it, we were in Bolivia!

We rode another half hour or so to the lakeside town of Copacabana, the hottest spot on lake Titicaca. Is that how the song went? It almost works.

We checked into the Rosario hotel where we scored a nice third floor room with a view of the lake. Deby found two beers and we sat on the deck toasting our success for the day.

Back at 12,500 feet Deby and I were both feeling the effects of the elevation again. Two days in the lowlands was nice but our once acclimated bodies needed to start over. To make matters worse we both started sniffling, sneezing and coughing. Arrrrg, riding in the rain and cold was taking it’s toll. We pulled out our pharmaceutical supplies and decided to stay an extra day on the lake and try to recuperate a bit.  Maybe a day off with rest would help us acclimate and fight off the oncoming colds.

Two days of rest worked. As we started feeling better the weather was getting worse. It rained much of our time in Copacabana and the motorcycles were parked uncovered getting soaked. Dang, maybe we should have brought those covers….. It was Deby’s birthday when we decided to make the short but treacherous trek to the capital city of LaPaz.

“Bolivia isn’t really setup for tourists”

We’ve been setting daily goals, or challenges for each day. Almost like a reality show….will they be able to complete their challenges for the day... For Deby’s birthday the challenges were: 1) Survive the “ferry” across a arm of lake Titicaca. 2) Not die or get too lost finding our hotel in the heart of La Paz. 3) Find fuel.

We’ve done this before so we knew what we were getting into, besides, maybe they’ve improved things in the last seven years. Right?

We left the hotel in a dripping rain. Deby’s motorcycle wouldn’t start. An ongoing problem whenever we’ve been at high elevations and it was cold. This time it was cold and wet. The consistently successfully solution was for me to roll the motorcycle down hill and “pop” the clutch. The good news was the hotel was on a steep hill. The bad news was the road was a slick muddy cobblestone mess. We pushed the bike out the gate and I started rolling down hill. I only had one shot. At the bottom was a dead end crossroads under construction that was 100% deep mud. I rolled for a while made sure the key was on, put the bike in second gear and hoped dumping the clutch would turn the back wheel and not cause it to skid on the slick cobblestone. It worked….. ahhh. I ran to the bottom of the hill and revved the motorcycle back up to the hotel where I forgot to place it in neutral when I put down the kickstand and the kickstand safety switch killed the engine. I shifted to neutral and tried the starter, whew it started. We left the bike running on the side of the road, finished loading and took off. On the way out of town we passed a gas station but decided we had enough to reach La Paz.  Mistake….

We arrived at the ferry and nope, nothing had improved in the past seven years.

The idea is that we ride up the planks and park. Dangerous under the best conditions and treacherous when wet. The boards were soaked from the rain and coated with mud from cars, trucks and busses driving down the muddy road and up the ramps. Oh, and guess the name of the boat we would be taking….

Deby and I sat in the rain with our full riding gear on. We were told we needed to wait for some cars to board. Evidently, it wasn’t worthwhile to run the boat with just two motorcycles. After about 20 minutes, two cars showed up. Ha, it was people we talked to at our hotel who were watching us bump start and load our motorcycles. They loaded first and then it was our turn. Being Deby’s birthday and all I insisted on riding her bike first up the slippery ramps. I made it, but it was slick and tricky. Next was my big pig of a bike. I aimed for a spot to plant my front wheel between two planks so hopefully it would guide my bike in the right direction. The next challenge was to go fast enough to have balance up the slick ramp but then slam on the brakes and not skid before running into Deby’s bike only a few feet in front of mine.

Because of my forementioned superstition about filming, I didn’t ask Deby to memorialize the event with her camera. It worked and I successfully loaded the motorcycle. Whew!

A push with a big stick and we were underway.

You might think that the “ferry” docks facing forward and we ride forward to disembark. Nope, nope, nope. We backed into our equally muddy landing spot and an equally dicey board was leaned up as a ramp and we needed to back the motorcycles down. Arrrrg.

With the help of a crewmember who was appropriately tipped, we managed one by one, to back down the bikes safely. Whew, that was tricky.

(Bolivia isn’t really setup for tourists)

Gas: There are a few things we are constantly monitoring, our cash supply, our water supply and our fuel. All three are requirements and not always available, so we need to plan ahead and have backup plans. In Bolivia it’s fuel that’s the problem. My motorcycle holds 30 liters (almost 8 gallons) of fuel while Deby’s has a much smaller 15 liter capacity (about 4 gallons). As we were close to the Bolivia border Deby’s gas light came on as we came across a small station that only had regular gas. I decided to skip filling mine and we filled Deby’s tank and continued to Copacabana. We had enough gas to get to LaPaz and my plan was to stop along the way to get gas for both bikes.

Now approaching La Paz, I started looking for gas. We pulled into the first station. In short they couldn’t sell to foreigners but the next station five minutes down the road would. The next station… no we can’t sell you gas but the next station will. The third station…. no but if you go back five miles they will sell you gas. I pleaded, offered to pay more, offered to pay cash, offered to have them fill just my spare gas can but nothing worked. About that time my gas light came on warning that I only had about 40 miles of range left.

So, the deal is this….. Bolivia heavily subsidizes gasoline for the country. It is the equivalent of about  $0.50 per gallon in USD. This causes all kinds of problems for non-Bolivian citizens. Foreigners are supposed to pay a higher rate but doing that involves getting a passport copy and other documentation and entering data into a computerized system. It’s generally a hassle and busy stations near big cities just don’t want to deal with it. Our past experience, and what we’ve been told, is that away from the big cities the stations are more relaxed on the rules and the cash price is negotiable. Well, that wasn’t going to happen anywhere near the capital city.

Deby gets hit

So… La Paz was, as expected, another crazy big city with insane traffic and crazy drivers. It’s almost impossible to explain and I’ve given up even recording the madness with my helmet camera. For an hour we inched our way into the downtown section of La Paz. Rode on sidewalks, rode through markets (yes you read that right), were squeezed by busses, cut off by taxies, honked at by truckers and mostly ignored traffic signals. All normal. Really. We came to one intersection where everyone was just ignoring the traffic light and at a stop at all different angles forming a huge knot of vehicles.

We were lane splitting between cars, well, not like there were really lanes. The rule is, if you fit you go. We were all stopped in the tangle. Deby was stopped next to a rather nice official looking compact car on her right when a collectivo style bus came up perpendicular on her left rear side. At about 1 mph the bus pushed into Deby’s pannier and pushed her over into the car on her right! I heard her yelling in my helmet radio and quickly stopped my bike in the intersection, further causing chaos and ran back to help.

She was tipped into the car, her handlebars dented into the drivers side door. The driver couldn’t get out with the blocked door. Deby was wedged between the car and the bike. Some bystanders came over to try to lift the bike but the bus had her pinned because it couldn’t back up in the traffic. Somehow, in the chaos, honking and yelling, the bus driver managed to back up a few inches and we lifted the bike. Arrrrg. Deby was ok, the bike was ok and I was wondering what would happen next.

I stood in the chaotic intersection making sure Deby was back on her bike and ready to go. There was some fist shaking and words with the bus driver but he was anxious to continue on his way. Someone yelled out the bus window and shook a fist. The driver in the car with the dented door looked at me and could tell I was not happy as I stood there in my full riding gear and helmet. He rolled up his window and just started driving away!

Well, just another day of adventure motorcycle riding. I got on my bike and we continued the madness in the crazy city until we found the hotel.

5 Days in La Paz

We checked into the Madero Hotel and Suites in downtown La Paz and settled in for our five day stay. We picked this hotel because of it’s central downtown location, secure garage parking and rooftop bar. Here is a picture of the city from the roof as a thunderstorm rolled in for the evening.

We had most of a day before the crew from Seattle arrived. I was on a mission, find gas. I called Marco in Sucre and he had some ideas and I also asked around the area, vendors, guides, other bikers and mostly anyone who spoke English. I’m going to be vague here to protect the innocent but I found a guy who knew a guy who said he could get 40 liters of gasoline. We negotiated a price and I paid for all forty liters but said a tip we come at final delivery. By some miracle in 2 hours I had 20 liters. He helped me fill Deby’s bike and that left a few liters for my bike. He said he would be back in an hour…… not.

Day two: Laundry, exploring, acclimating, worked on this blog post, asking about gas…. nothing.

Day three, Jon, Lindsey, Weston and Alayna arrived at the hotel early after nearly 24 hours of flying. They were exhausted and immediately crashed in the rooms so Deby and I went for a walk to a museum and to try to find an ATM for some cash. We stopped at a nearby machine, I entered my debit card and got the error, “unable to read chip” and that was it. No card. What? Where is my card? Ugggg. Swallowed by the machine. Fortunately, we were in the main section of downtown of the nation’s capital and the bank’s headquarters was only a few blocks away so off we went. I had more practice with my Spanish when I finally was directed to an official person and he said to come back on Friday before they close for the weekend. Check.

I ran into the gasoline guy and nicely inquired…. no problem, later this afternoon. Ok. Didn’t happen….

Back at the hotel the kids were awake so we decided to tour the city using the teleferico, a system of gondolas that are the mas transit system of La Paz. I found this map online that makes a loop of the city.

We did the full tour, each leg cost 3Bs or about 50 cents.

We stopped at a viewpoint, La Paz is a huge city!

We walked around some more and explored the Witches Market and returned to the hotel for the night. Still no WhatsApp message from the gas guy….

One of the market streets…

Day four: We signed up for a tour. To do what?? Climb up to a glacier? Who’s idea was that? (Deby). The van picked us and four others to drive about two hours to the start of the hike. We stopped at about 15,000 feet along the road for pictures. It wasn’t really that scenic a spot then we noticed that the real reason for stopping was a flat tire.

We climbed higher and higher on a dirt road towards the trail head. Nice views all around.

Next we came to the somber site of the Milluni Massacre that took place on May 24, 1965. The Bolivian government, concerned about the minors causing an uprising sent troops to massacre many of the miners and take over the mine. You can read more about it here:  https://filmfreeway.com/MILLUNI1965

We paid our respects and I took a few pictures of the tombs. 

Unfortunately, Bolivia has a past history of this type of violence.

Soon we were at the trail head and climbing to Glacier Charquini, another glacier in the world that is rapid retreat. Read about it HERE.

What did we sign up for? Climbing to what?? 16,500 feet? Deep breaths, deep breaths. The younger contingent, just off the plane from sea level Seattle seemed to be doing ok. Must be nice to be young and in good condition.

Finally, we reached the end of the trail at Lake Charquini. I felt a real sense of accomplishment that I made it without passing out.

Left to right: Jon, Lindsey, Weston and Alayna. Glad to have these kids with us.

Alayna was a good sport and took this picture so Deby and I could jump in.

It was an awesome color glacial lake, worth the trek.

We four-wheeled the mighty tour van down the mountain where we actually drove in a river for part of the drive. All normal I guess. We arrived in time to walk to the bank before they closed… miracle of miracle, they had my debit card! Now I just needed to get 20 more liters of gas. Then, miracle number two for our anniversary day, I got a message to meet at the hotel, he had the gas.

Day five, Lockdown.

Deby and I were supposed to leave on Saturday for the Uyuni Salar but we were notified a few days ago that the whole country would be in lockdown on Saturday for the nation wide census. We wouldn’t be allowed to leave the hotel. We have reservations to tour the Salar on Monday, so that means combining a two day ride to Uyuni into one long 339 mile trek in one day. In the US that would be an easy day ride but nothing is easy in Bolivia. Worse, my motorcycle would just barely make it on one tank but Deby’s 200 mile range is well short of the destination. We will need to find gas along the way.

So this is my lockdown post. Tomorrow we make the long ride to Uyuni while the kids mountain bike the Bolivian Road of Death and fly down to meet us on Monday. Hopefully it all goes according to plan. Remember, Bolivia isn’t really set up to support tourists…

More to come, thanks for following.

Donn and Deby